


From the Sidelines

by alistairweekend



Series: Wren Hawke [4]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-14 21:46:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3426689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alistairweekend/pseuds/alistairweekend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders has to watch as Wren Hawke fights the Arishok.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From the Sidelines

"I accept your challenge, Arishok."

Wren’s voice carried through the still, terror-filled air of the viscount’s throne room, and all the nobles gathered around took in a collective small, sharp breath. She was going to do it. Hawke was going to fight the Arishok.

Anders felt his heart drop into his stomach. He’d feared this, but he had known it was coming; Wren had that flash in her golden eyes, a signal of determination and defiance and  _anger_. Usually Anders loved the spark — it had been one of the first things he’d noticed about her — and it came back whenever there were mages to help. Wren was an incredible warrior, but Anders dreaded that this time, that blaze of determination would get her killed.

He opened his mouth to protest, reaching a hand out to grasp at Wren’s shoulder, but he was swept away by a wave of people rushing up the stairs. An upsurge of desperation filled the blond mage, rising up his heart and lungs and throat, all but threatening to spill out his mouth. But he couldn’t reach her, couldn’t cry out. The bodies around him suffocated him, and he fought through them until he reached the railing of the dais and could look down at the makeshift arena.

The two warriors circled one another, never breaking eye contact. The tension was palpable. Anders gripped the balustrade till his knuckles turned white, afraid to watch but equally afraid to look away.

Then the Arishok roared and swung his blade. Anders knew Wren was capable of dodging the attack easily, but all the same his heart nearly skipped a beat. She ducked, and when she came up to attempt a strike of her own, the giant Qunari ripped his blade through the air again, forcing her to retreat out of range. Even from far away Anders could see the calculations going through her mind. She was used to being on the offense, not the defense. But it was clear that in this fight, she would have to act more like a rogue than a warrior.

She had paused too long. The Arishok lunged forward and brought down his sword with terrifying force, and Wren brought up her shield barely in the nick of time. Even so, the blow sent her sprawling. Anders blanched. “Wren!” he yelled, voice raw with fear.

He was about to jump over the railing right then and there, consequences be damned, until Wren slowly, painfully got to her feet. The Arishok watched her with a mildly interested look on his hard face.

“You mock me, Arishok,” Wren said. She spat on the ground by her feet, looking disgusted.

“I am allowing you to become acquainted with my fighting style,” the giant replied calmly. “I want to see what you’re truly capable of,  _basalit’an_.”

Wren’s mouth formed a grin, and she shook herself, lightly shifting her balance from foot to foot. She was full of bloodlust now. “Then come and get me.”

The battle truly began, then. The Arishok’s fourth swing was just as forceful as the others, and this time Wren ducked and darted around him, surprisingly agile in her heavy armor. Her own sword slashed into his leg, leaving a gash that would have incapacitated any human.

But her opponent was not human. He let out no more than a grunt of pain before reacting swiftly, whirling around with his blade outstretched. Wren dodged again with an alarmingly small margin for error, and the fight continued like this for a long while, Wren stealing hits when she could.

As Anders watched, he found himself almost wishing Justice would emerge. He could rush down and help Wren win the battle, and no one would be able to blame him; the crazy possessed mage couldn’t have helped himself.

But Justice was silent. He didn’t seem to care for anything other than the mages now. With a bitter pang Anders remembered the time his friend had wanted justice for all. It was cruel of him to withhold his righteous passion for the woman Anders loved.

An agonized cry wrenched Anders from his musings, and he saw Wren take a direct blow from the Arishok. She fell to one knee briefly, cradling her now-injured arm, then rolled away before the giant could land another hit.

_She will_ not  _die today,_  Anders thought grimly. He began channeling healing magic to his hands, then made an imperceptible gesture towards Wren down below.

The rejuvenating magic had barely reached her when the warrior lifted her gaze to meet Anders’. Eyes narrowed in a fearsome glare, she shook her head, a clear message in them: _Don’t you dare let me cheat or I swear to the Maker…_

Her and her cursed sense of honor.

Withdrawing his magic reluctantly, Anders resigned himself to watching the fight, heart nearly stopping each time the Arishok attacked. He decided that if Wren should fall completely, he would go to her rescue, whether she liked it or not.

It was several minutes later until Wren finally gained the advantage she needed. As the Arishok continued his barrage, Wren heavily favored her unwounded arm, which carried her shield. At first Anders was bracing himself to leap to the rescue, certain she was about to collapse, before he realized she was using the injury to her advantage. Each hit she took staggered her a step back, and the more the Qunari continued the less careful his strikes became, however subtly; he was assuming victory was close at hand.

Wren fell to a crouch, shield held high, and the giant brought his arm high for his next swing. If it connected, it was plausible it could have sliced straight through Wren’s defense. But she made sure it didn’t happen. She took the split-second of an opening and rammed her shield into the Arishok’s unguarded chest with impressive force. He actually stumbled backwards.

Wren didn’t waste any time. She bashed her shield into her opponent again and again, and, with everyone watching in complete awe, gradually pushed him back across the battlefield until he fell against the stairs. Anders could see her shaking with the massive effort it took to even faze the giant, and a sheen of sweat coated her dark skin. But there was also an unmistakable fire in her bright eyes, and her face betrayed no emotion but determination as she held her blade up for the finishing blow.

“We. Shall. Return,” the Arishok coughed his last words. Wren’s blade came down swiftly, and he was still.

There was a moment of still silence, then slowly a cry of victory rose up amongst the nobles, and soon the room was filled with joyous shouting and clapping. Anders shoved his way through the crowd and ran down the stairs to take Wren in his arms. She let out a small huff at his show of affection but did not protest further, and he could tell she was smiling.

“You are _such_ a pain, you know that,” he stated rather than asked, feeling a tad choked up. “I thought I’d lose you.”

“You know full well I can handle myself.” Under any other circumstances, she would have been offended. But her voice at that moment was laced with relief, and she even let out a tiny chuckle.

Anders let out a breath, smiled, and gripped her all the tighter.


End file.
